I was minding my own business, taking a leisurely drive down South Vermont in Los Angeles, when I encountered a sign for Perfect Paint & Body. Now, I’ve never felt a need for help in achieving a perfect body, but the sign nevertheless caught my attention. I think it was the brown-painted silhouette that (figuratively) jumped out at me:
“Perfect” you say?
Now, before I get to the shape of that silhouette, isn’t it a little odd that a place that calls itself “perfect paint” has a sign that looks like it was painted by a four-year-old with a bottle brush and some muddy poster paints? I mean, if there’s one thing you want to emphasize when you’re a paint business, wouldn’t it be paint?
But let’s leave that critique aside. Of greater interest is the shape of the silhouette. Am I imagining things, or is this one of the elusive “Laughing Bears” that I discussed in an earlier post? Indeed, it turns out that this was part of the Bear network back in the 1940s. According to my research, the bear was still a legit, laughing bear as recently as the late 1990s. At that time the establishment was called Modern Day Auto Center. It was sold to the four-year-old kid at Perfect Paint in 2001.
The Bear in (slightly) better times.
So, what do we learn from all this? That the Laughing Bears are slowly eroding away, and we should enjoy them while they’re still around! Please send me any photos, or even simply your tips as to locations. Without eternal vigilance, we may find ourselves in a world without laughing bears.
I think you’ll agree that the 1950s were the heyday for Los Angeles. This is partly because Los Angeles is defined by its car culture and its movie industry, and the 1950s were arguably a golden age for both of those themes. What’s more, LA was still a somewhat functional metropolitan area in the 1950s, before gridlocked freeways, ubiquitous homeless encampments, and persistent air pollution threatened the region’s liveability.
The 1950s also brought some iconic architecture to Los Angeles: The Wayfarers Chapel (designed by Lloyd Wright, and located just a couple of miles from my house), CBS Television City, Norm’s Coffee House, the Capitol Records building — a number of uniquely LA buildings were constructed during this period. But sometimes forgotten are the whimsical and wonderful creations of Russell C. Wendell. It was he who opened a chain of 10 “Big Donut Drive-In” restaurants around the city in the 1950s.
Wendell oversaw his donut empire into the 1970s, when he finally decided to sell off the individual restaurants and instead focus on his “Pup ‘N’ Taco” chain. (Taco Bell bought up those restaurants in the 1980s.)
So, what happened to the ten “Big Donut Drive-In” restaurants? Five of them were razed (insert “raised donut” joke here), and one of them was unceremoniously converted into a bagel shop. But four of the original Big Donut Drive Ins remain, still serving donuts to a loyal clientele. My mission today was to visit those remaining restaurants, and sample their wares. (The things I do for my readership…)
First up was “Donut King II,” in Gardena. This was the third of the original Big Donut Drive-Ins. It’s changed names and owners a few times, finally ending up with the rather humorless and unfriendly woman I met today.
Here’s a tip: “Donut” provoke the owner!
Now, I figured since I was visiting each of these donut shops, it would make sense to sample a donut from each one. But what kind of donut to purchase? I decided to let the owner (or manager) of each place make the choice. So I approached the scowling woman behind the window, who looked like she was tired of being interrupted by pesky customers. I asked her a simple question: Which is the best kind of donut that you sell? “We sell lots of different kinds of donuts. They’re all on the menu in front of you. Pick one.” I wasn’t going to be daunted that easily. “But which one is your favorite?,” I persisted, turning on the Boilard charm. “The glazed,” she immediately responded, most likely because she had a surfeit of them on the tray beside her. So glazed it was.
250 calories of fried goodness
So let’s get down to brass tacks. This was a good donut. Not great, but good. The grid pattern (presumably from the cooling rack) gave the illusion of texture, and it was fried to a nice, golden brown. The glaze might have been a little thick, though, and the inside was slightly underdone. Overall, I give it a 7 out of 10.
A bit too gooey inside.
Having been fortified by fried, leavened dough, I moved on to Dale’s Donuts in Compton. There was that unmistakable, familiar, 32-foot-donut again, signalling that this was one of the original Big Donut Drive-Ins.
Donut mind if I do…
Here, the owner was a little more chatty, sharing that he bought the place 29 years ago. I asked if he bought it from Mr. Wendell himself. “No, just from my neighbors.” I asked him my usual question: Which is your best donut? He frowned, as though he’d never thought to reflect on the quality of his wares over the past 29 years. Finally, with a shrug, he said “Well, the glazed is pretty good.” So I acquired my second glazed donut of the morning.
Glazed and confused
Now this glazed donut was clearly superior to the one from Donut King II. This donut had a much lighter glaze that was nicely bonded to the donut ring. The glaze was so delicate that I didn’t even get sticky fingers. The body of the donut was light, almost fluffy. I’d say it was fried perfectly. I give this a 9 out of 10.
Melts in your mouth, not in your hand
I was beginning to feel a sugar buzz, and raced up to Randy’s Donuts in Inglewood for my next fix.
Homer Simpson, eat your heart out
Constructed in 1953, this was the second of Wendell’s original buildings. And it’s the one that seems to get all the attention, due to its prime real estate. It’s located near LAX, and you probably saw it while gassing up your rental car. The place has been called Randy’s Donuts since Wendell sold it in 1976. The iconic sign has appeared in numerous movies, including Mars Attacks!, Earth Girls Are Easy, Coming To America, Crocodile Dundee in LA, and Iron Man 2. This place is clearly the Grand Dame of the Big Donut Drive-Ins. It is the best maintained, has the largest parking lot, and had a line of people standing six feet apart, waiting for their turn to get a ring of fried dough.
Aquamarine corduroy shorts and matching knee-high socks and tye-died shirt: Welcome to LA.
When I got to the front of the line, I asked the kid behind the counter which was their best donut. He smiled broadly: “That’s got to be the mango. We just invented it two days ago, and it’s our best seller!” Now this is the enthusiasm I was looking for. Hook me up, said I. And behold — this was no ordinary donut. In fact, it was more like a pastry (and with a $2.75 price to match).
Good enough to make a mango off his diet.
The first thing you notice biting into this “donut” is the heavy mango glaze. It cracked into pieces as I took the first bite, showering my lap with mango-icing shards. The next thing you notice is an overly-sweet, gooey mango filling, like the stuff they used to put in Hostess Pies when I was a lad. The third thing you notice is that the overall effect is rich and flavorful and robust; you’re overwhelmed with flavor and mouthfeel.
No mangoes were harmed in the making of this donut
Then, a moment later, you feel sick. I suppose I shouldn’t have eaten the whole thing, especially after already eating two glazed donuts just a short time earlier. But this thing is just too much. It’s too filling, and too gooey, and too sweet. And it’s two points (out of 10).
But I still had one more of the extant Big Donut Drive-Ins to visit: Kindle’s Do-nuts (note the hyphen) is the first of the 10 Big Donut Drive-Ins constructed by Wendell. It dates back to 1950, and, like most 71-year-olds, is showing some battle scars.
Before Amazon appropriated the Kindle name
At Kindle’s I was again served by the establishment’s owner, who told me he’s owned the place for 30 years. “And which donut is the best?”, I asked. “Glazed. Hands down.” Now, I’m starting to think that glazed must be the wagyu beef of donuts, like you’re a fool to pick anything else. “OK, give me a glazed, Mac,” I said, trying to sound like an in-the-know donut aficionado.
A Kindle’s on a paperwhite
With two other glazed donuts (literally) under my belt, I felt qualified to critique this specimen. It wasn’t stellar. The glaze was applied a little unevenly, and it was a little too sweet. The ring itself seemed a bit stale, though the flavor was solid. I’ll give it a 5. Actually, let’s make it six, because my donut fatigue might be unnaturally lowering the scores.
So, the winner is Dale’s Donuts, with a score of 9 out of ten for their glazed donut. But more importantly, I have to commend the owners of all four establishments for retaining those iconic, 32-foot donuts. They’re preserving a little slice of LA history, and even architecturally tying together some disparate corners of the region. I recommend you check one or all of them out next time you’re in the area!
BONUS MATERIAL
After I’d visited the four remaining Big Donut Drive Ins, there were still a few fat cells in my body that had not yet exploded from an infusion of donut calories. So to remedy this, I headed out to La Puente to visit a place called The Donut Hole. The Donut Hole is not one of Wendell’s original Big Donut Drive Ins, but it does have a giant donut incorporated into the architecture. In fact, it has two giant donuts. Behold:
Abandon hope all ye who enter hereSide view–donuts at the front and rear. If yo’u’ll pardon the expression.
Unlike the Big Donut Drive Ins, this donut place doesn’t have a walk-up window. So I rode my motorcycle through one of the giant donuts. (Has that sentence ever been written before?) And I asked the young lady: Which is the best donut? “They’re all the best!” she said, cheerily. OK, which is your favorite?, I asked. “That would be the fresh strawberry donut. I love it!” Sold, said I.
Trigger warning.
Yikes. Now, on the plus said, it really does have whole, fresh strawberries. They’re nestled in fresh whipped cream. The overall effect is sort of like strawberry shortcake, but instead of shortcake, there’s a cloyingly sweet donut split like a hamburger bun. The first bite was wonderful. The sweetness of the donut and the whipped cream is balanced (a bit) with the (relative) tang of the strawberries. And the different textures worked together as well. The whole ensemble tasted fresh and flavorful.
And I learned my lesson after the mango disaster. I forced myself not to eat the whole thing. Just two bites — that’s all I had.
But next time, I’m going to The Donut Hole first, on an empty stomach.
Some years ago, my replacement unit (son Ian) and I drove the entire length of Route 66, from Chicago to Santa Monica. As the reader no doubt knows, Route 66 was one of this country’s first highways, dating back to 1926. It also had been the main way to get to southern California from points east, starting with the dust bowl migration and extending to the car culture of the 1950s and 1960s. Just one or two lanes in each direction, the road has an unhurried and scenic charm. Alas, as depicted in the movie “Cars,” Route 66 was eventually bypassed by various interstates, and the towns and businesses along the old Route slowly declined and eventually dried up. When Ian and I took our trip, we saw plenty of derelict buildings on the side of the road: motels, gas stations, diners, and the like. I suspect that many of those old landmarks that we saw over a decade ago are now gone.
Anyway, Route 66 has always occupied a soft spot in my heart, so I was inspired when my good friend Detlef recommended that I explore an old segment of Route 66 that crosses Cajon Pass (where one crosses from the Mojave Desert to the LA Basin. Or vice versa.) Now, when Ian and I drove Route 66, we didn’t drive on much of this particular segment, because it had been blocked by Interstate 15 in the 1970s. However, a few years ago, the good people of CalTrans redesigned the freeway and reconnected the discontiguous parts of old Route 66 over the pass.
I began today’s tour at the Cajon Summit (approx. 4000 feet above sea level). For over half a century, the Summit Inn stood as a well-known landmark here. The owner, Cecil Stevens, finally sold the place in 2016, and a few months later the structure was destroyed by the “Blue Cut Fire” that ravaged much of the area. Timing is everything. Sadly, Cecil died of Covid just a couple of months ago (February 5). He was 88.
Glory DaysAnyone want to go in with me?On the site of the old Summit Inn. I have no idea what this is.
Now, the first part of Route 66 over the pass has been overlaid with Interstate 15. That’s not especially interesting. But you can take an old, rickety, rutted dirt road that had been used as a “shortcut” by motorists in the early years. This dirt road began as a wagon trail called the John Brown Toll Road. It was constructed in 1861–just as the Civil War was erupting. So I set out on this old original road.
…but the old dirt road begins!View of Cajon Pass from John Brown Toll Road. Note I-15 to the right.
One wonders why this rutted, twisting road was ever considered a “shortcut” for Route 66. My understanding is that it used to be in better shape, and it even received pavement in 1914, but it’s narrow and steep and twisting. I was cruising along at about 5 mph.
Remnants of 1914 pavement.This cut originally was dug by hand in 1861!
Now, there’s one thing you should know about Cajon Pass: It’s a Mecca for railroad enthusiasts. The railroad first crossed the pass in 1885, and today over 150 trains can pass through in a single day. As I made my way down the John Brown Toll Road, I encountered four sets of tracks, including a trip under these tracks from 1915.
Eventually the John Brown Toll Road reconnects with the old Route 66 proper. At this location, there are several notable markers. One commemorates Camp Cajon, which was a popular resting spot, with various facilities, for travelers coming over the pass. It was developed in 1919, but was destroyed by a flood in 1938.
“We have builded”??
Another marker identifies this spot as the junction of the Santa Fe Trail and the Salt Lake Trail. It honors “the brave pioneers of California,” and was erected in 1917 by a group of eight pioneers. Notably, one of these pioneers in John Brown (of the Wagon Toll Road, which I’d just come down). Two others (Sheldon Stoddard and Sydney Waite) had been members of the “Lost 49ers” through Death Valley. Coincidentally, I’ve run into this group on two earlier trips: Death Valley and, more recently, Walker Pass. These three individuals, along with the other five who sponsored the monument, were all present at the dedication ceremony in 1917.
Monument “to the brave pioneers of California.”
It was now time to get onto Route 66 proper. This segment parallels the modern Interstate 15. Now, as I mentioned, this is railroad country, and much of this road also parallels the old railroad line:
…or are you just happy to see me?
It struck me that this is the same segment of road where I’d camped out for over an hour, waiting for the Union Pacific’s restored “Big Boy” steam locomotive to come through in the fall of 2019. You can see my blog post about that event here.
The Big Boy on its way to through Cajon Pass in 2019.
What’s especially cool about this stretch of Route 66 is the good people at CalTrans have repaved the southbound lanes of the old road, and made them into a comfortable two-way road. Meanwhile, they’ve left the northbound lanes of Route 66 unrestored, with periodic K-rail barriers to prevent people from traveling along it, thus preserving it as an artifact. There are even some of the old, painted “Route 66” shields still extant on the original roadbed.
Original roadbed.
Also, some of the bridges from the early days are still in place, with their year of construction stamped in concrete:
From the Herbert Hoover administration.
A bit later I came to an old rest area that had been constructed in 1952. All that remains are some pavement markings and a memorial plaque.
Marker notes, among other things, that the tollhouse for the John Brown Toll Road was nearby.
Incidentally, this location sits on the San Andreas Fault, where the Pacific Plate and the North American Plate meet. In fact, it was the San Andreas Fault that created Cajon Pass in the first place.
On a hillside next to the road I saw the faintly visible number “66” somehow carved into the earth. I can’t find any information about who did this and when. Tips are welcome!
Can you see it?
Now, let me explain that on my drive from LA to the Pass I was listening to a podcast called “Stuff You Should Know.” (If you’re not already familiar with it I’d recommend it to you.) At the end of the podcast, the hosts always read a letter from a listener. In today’s episode they read a letter they received from the great-great-great niece of one Helen Boss, who caused the car accident in which Sammy Davis Jr. lost his eye in 1954. You can listen to the podcast here (listener mail starts at 59:40).
So imagine my surprise when, shortly after listening to that podcast, I found myself passing the exact place on Route 66 where Sammy’s accident occurred. I’m not making this up. The accident happened where the road passes under a railroad track. Evidently the 72-year-old Mrs Boss had missed her exit, and decided to back up in the early morning gloom. Sammy rear ended her and lost his left eye in the accident. Fortunately, no one was killed.
Where Sammy and Helen met.
Before long Route 66 completes its journey through Cajon Pass, and it enters the city of San Bernardino. At this point, almost no remnants of the old road and infrastructure remain. So I decided to jump back onto the interstate to head back home. But it’s worth noting that some other stretches of the original Route 66, along with some roadside structures, still exist on its final leg westward toward Santa Monica, on a road now named Foothill Boulevard. I drove that stretch a few years ago, and will assemble the photos into a blog entry at a later time.
So there you have it: A good stretch of the original Route 66 can still be driven over the Cajon Pass, bypassing the soulless and numbing Interstate. Thanks to Detlef for calling this to my attention!
You’ll recall that about a month ago I posted a number of photos of the surviving “Laughing Bear” signs that advertised auto repair facilities whose mechanics were trained by Bear Manufacturing. I shared photos of these iconic signs that I’d encountered near my home. Well, today I came across another one: Irvine’s wheel alignment in Harbor City, CA.
My question is: Does the uppermost sign say “check smog”?
Word on the street (literally) is that this is not an original sign. The business is said to begun in the 1950s or 1960s, when they had a more traditional sign (see photo below). The new sign appeared within the last decade.
The original Irvine’s sign, now lost to history. (Photo courtesy of RoadsideArchicture.com.)
Please keep your eyes peeled for more such signs, and send me your photos!
Today’s travels focused primarily on CA Route 33. To get there I took an easy and leisurely route across the Central Valley floor to Blackwell’s Corner at the intersection of CA Routes 46 and 33. Blackwell’s corner is one of my favorite stops on California roadtrips, as it’s a friendly and well-provisioned oasis in the middle of nowhere. A single building is outfitted with a gas station, a diner, a grocery store, showers, bathrooms, an ice cream fountain, a homemade fudge kitchen, and a James Dean shrine. For it’s at this spot that James Dean was last seen alive before his fatal car crash a half-hour later on September 30, 1955. He was 24 years old.
Well, he did star in Giant, you know.
Blackwell’s Corner traces its lineage back exactly 100 years — to 1921 — when George Blackwell opened a rest stop on the site. I’ve stopped here many times. Sure, the gas is about a buck a gallon more expensive than elsewhere, and the snacks are severely overpriced. And the fudge doesn’t do much for me. But this place is an institution, it feels really earnest, and there’s really no other options for rest and refreshment in the region. It’s reassuring to know that it’s here. So I’m happy to support it.
Some years back Blackwell’s put in this 1950’s-themed diner to capitalize on its James Dean connection. Even before Covid, I’ve never seen anyone eating there.
So after gassing up and getting a bottle of juice for breakfast, I turned onto CA Route 33. Like Blackwell’s Corner, Route 33 reminds me of a reliable old friend. I’ve traveled segments of 33 on various occasions — particularly the stretch known as the Petroleum Highway. This segment is a hellscape of oil rigs and pipelines scattered willy-nilly across the parched and poisoned earth. It’s like something out of Mad Max, and somehow you can’t take your eyes off it.
“I’m just here for the gasoline.” — Mad Max
One of the notable intersections in the area is where Route 33 is crossed by “Brown Mat. Road.”
Wipe your feet.
At first I thought this meant the road was covered with brown mats, or appeared to be so covered. Then I noticed that “Mat.” is short for “Material.” So why would you name a road “Brown Material Road”? Is it simply an odd reference to a dirt road? Or a euphemism for something scatological?
Could you please be more specific?
After doing some research, I discovered that the name references a business that used to be on the road: A place called Brown’s Material Supply Company. So it’s really analogous to Magic Mountain Parkway in Santa Clarita.
Anyway, the Petroleum Highway is much more famous for its oil than for Brown Material. The scale of production is impressive. This region (Kern County) produces fully three- quarters of the state’s oil (and about a tenth of the country’s overall oil production). One of the major oil producers, Aera, takes great pride in showing off one of its old pumps, tarted up with Christmas lights next to the road.
Long since retired.
In the midst of these oilfields, I happened upon the Oakwood Bar-B-Q and Bar in the tiny town of McKittrick (pop: 115). Under the main yellow sign was a tarnished copper sign on the outer wall that read “Penny Bar.” Upon closer inspection, that entire sign was made of pennies.
I’m definitely not getting my BOTD here!
This seemed intriguing. A plaque informed me that the building’s owners have over time glued over a million pennies to the bar, walls, and other flat surfaces of the building. I didn’t take any photos inside the building, since the roughnecks (or whatever the oil workers call themselves these days) that populated the establishment didn’t look like they’d take too kindly to a stranger photographing them. But I did get this photo of the back entrance:
Penny for your thoughts?
A little further along Route 33 I came to the town of Taft (pop: 9,300). Taft is just about the most southern town of the San Joaquin Valley, nestled against the foothills of the Transverse Ranges. Taft was originally named “Moron” around 1900, but after it burned down in 1909 it was renamed after William Howard Taft, who became president that same year. Taft is one of the more substantial towns on Route 33, and has close ties to the oil industry. While its downtown still feels stuck in the mid-20th century, it still feels viable and maybe even prosperous. The Fox Theater dates back to 1918. It’s had ownership changes and was even closed for awhile, but on this trip it seemed to be fully restored and functioning. Indeed, it’s showing “Godzilla vs. Kong” tonight!
Would have been great if Mothra could have been part of the showdown.
It was now getting to be lunch time. Because there would be no towns of any substance for the next 75 miles or so, I decided to get lunch at a place called Roots Eatery. Even though it was plopped down in a strip mall, two elements spoke of promise: (1) the meat smoker puffing away in the parking lot, and (2) the promise of “Good, Bad, and Ugly” on the menu.
Roots’ smoker. Somehow I doubt that the county health department has inspected, let alone approved, the setup…I wish they’d point out the “bad” part of the menu.
I had a toothsome smoked pastrami sandwich with smoked bacon and smoked gouda on grilled and buttered sourdough. It was just what the doctor ordered, even though my arteries didn’t approve.
On the outskirts of town I encountered two notable things. One was this car; Points will be awarded to the first person to identify the make and year.
Second was this homemade art installation. Alert readers will recall that I have a soft spot for folk art. This trip has been largely devoid of any such sightings…until now.
Shades of Almira Gulch…
It was now time to leave the valley are start climbing up over the Transverse Ranges. The last bit of Kern County is commemorated by the town of Ventucopa (pop: 92), which marks the transition from Kern’s Maricopa to the county of Ventura.
As if “Inyokern” weren’t bad enough…
I was entering my favorite part of Route 33: the climb over the Transverse Ranges and the Santa Ynez Mountains. It’s a meandering, little-traveled, two-lane road with grasslands, oaks, and commanding views. Plenty of switchbacks allowed me to take panoramic photos of the road I was travelling.
The red line marks Route 33 over the Transverse RangesStill chugging along…On the way to Ojai
Finally I was delivered into the town of Ojai (pop: 7,500). If you’re wondering what happened to all the country’s hippies, I can report they’re alive and well and living in Ojai. Seriously. I’ve never seen so many healing crystals, incense shops, natural food coops, organic this and free-trade that. Ojai has a city ordinance banning chain stores, so the businesses are all pretty unique. I did find a decent brew pub, which I’ll mention in the BOTD at the end. (Famously, Ojai is also known for standing in for Shangri-La in Lost Horizon.)
Now, I’d planned to take 33 to its end near the oceanfront in Ventura about 25 miles away. But on a whim I instead headed out of Ojai on highway 150 east, which took me to Santa Paula (pop: 30,000). This was one of the few decent-size cities I encountered on this trip. I always associate Santa Paula with the St. Francis dam disaster of 1928. The dam was dozens of miles away, but when it failed in the middle of the night it unleashed a wall of water that passed through canyons and took out hundreds of structures before it reached the ocean. A year ago I made a visit to the dam site and described the disaster here. Today in Santa Paula, I saw this monument commemorating two motorcycle police officers who alerted townspeople of the impending disaster.
Latter day Paul Reveres.
But the real treasure in Santa Paula, for me, is the old Southern Pacific railroad depot. It was built in 1887 and served as the center of commerce and passenger travel for many years. Passenger service was halted in the 1930s and freight in the 1970s. But the structure has been lovingly restored and today serves as the Chamber of Commerce’s headquarters and an art gallery. I’ve seen a lot of restored railroad depots in my day, but this one is among the absolute best. It appears vibrant and solid, and is really a thing of beauty.
Soon after Santa Paula, I connected with Interstate 5. As soon as I get on a freeway, I consider the trip to be over…even though I still had another hour and a half of driving. As I fought the LA traffic, I was thankful for two days of two-lane roads in the deserts, valleys, and mountains of California.
BREW OF THE DAY
I had my BOTD at a place called Topa Topa Brewing Company in Ojai. The place is about 6 years old, and is named after the nearby Topa Topa Mountains. It’s got lots of outdoor seating a very laid-back vibe, which is typical for an Ojai business.
Nice day for a beer.
I chose the “Gadabout Stout.” Like yesterday’s BOTD, this is a nitro stout, which gives it a creamy mouthfeel. It’s brewed with coffee from the nearby Ragamuffin Roasters, and that gives it some decent roasty notes. But I have to say that I was underwhelmed by this beer. It’s made with oat milk, which while it may appeal to the Ojai hippies, seems to be an odd choice for beer. I suppose my main complaint is that the beer just feels flat and weak. It’s like drinking skim milk when you’re expecting a glass of whole milk. The beer doesn’t deliver much of a bite — either from hops or from alcohol. (It weighs in at 6% ABV). The main taste profile evokes corn cakes and unsalted tater tots. In a word, it’s bland. Definitely needs to be sharpened under a pyramid or healed with a crystal.
Chasing Phantoms 